


Bittersweet Tastes Better

by Kitty_KatAllie



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Author does not HATE these characters but they very clearly Bad ParentsTM, Christmas Fluff, Dream Trope, Family Issues, Foster Family, Gen, Kinda Canon AU, Neighbors AU, Warnings for Bad Parents, gratuitous Christmas Fluff, shit it's that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22221328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_KatAllie/pseuds/Kitty_KatAllie
Summary: "More than a dozen of the fairy lights didn’t work ... and the ornaments on the tree were almost all handmade. Construction paper, half-finished popcorn-and-cranberry strings, wooden sticks covered in glitter, and small clay pendants painted by messy children’s hands, Poundland-bought plastic ornaments faded and paint rubbed off by too many hands. So many different children had come and gone in this house, and, for now, there were just two."Lyra wakes up Christmas morning feeling out of sorts and there's only one person who can make her put back together again. giftfic for @moustache-bonnet on tumblr!
Relationships: Lyra & Pan, Lyra & Roger mentioned, Lyra Belacqua/Will Parry, pre-ship - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	Bittersweet Tastes Better

Something shook the bed beneath her recumbent body. With a struggle, Lyra’s eyes began to open. She just felt so _heavy_ , like every inch of her was held down by weights made of overwhelming softness and warmth. The first thing she saw was the glint of the hall light on golden fur. Fear, sudden and sickening, thudded in her throat, and Pan squirmed awake under the monkey’s horny black paw. Then, a gentle hand touched Lyra’s hair, followed by a sweet, low voice.

“Lyra, dear, you’re about to sleep through the whole morning. What a lazy child you are on _Christmas_ of all days,” that softly saccharine voice teased, a trace of intoxicating laughter under every word. And the fear melted away, slipping through her mental fingers like water, before she even turned over. Pan crawled sleepy and sinuous over the blankets without so much as a warning chirp as he slipped around her neck. The monkey was leaping across the bed and into her mother’s arms— her beautiful, lovely mother with the lovelier smile and dark curls falling wild and unstyled over her silk kimono-clad shoulders.

Being woken up so suddenly must’ve addled her brains.

“It’s not like I’m still a kid and I’m thinking Santa’s come,” Lyra said with a wide yawn.

“Cover your mouth, no one wants to see down your throat,” Marisa said, chucking Lyra’s chin. “Who told you there’s no Santa? I’m sure I saw more presents under the tree and _I_ didn’t put them there.”

Lyra rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the grin stealing over her face. Pan’s little clawed toes kneaded at her shoulder and she slipped out of bed. Marisa was already standing outside the door with a secretive, playful smirk on her face as she waited for Lyra to grab a robe and hurry after her.

“Didn’t you just tell Roger _yesterday_ there’s a Santa?” Pan asked pointedly.

“But that’s _Roger_. I’m not gonna tell _Roger_ there’s no Santa,” Lyra said, bare feet slapping over the cool marble floors. Her fingers trailed over the dainty, golden wood side table where a ruby-red crystal vase was full of poinsettias and holly. There was a vase of them on every table of the penthouse flat and the usual potted palms and fronds were replaced with tiny, tastefully-decorated Christmas tree shrubs done in gold and silver. They passed by the sitting room where the biggest tree stood. Lyra veered into the room, breath catching at the sight of it, with its silver tinsel, blue and white and silver ornaments made of glass and porcelain, and a star-topper that looked like it had been plucked straight from the sky— or a very wealthy giant’s jewelry box. Pan leapt from her shoulder and darted to the pile of presents underneath. They were all different sizes and shapes, most with the same classic holly-and-wreaths wrapping paper.

“There _are_ more than yesterday, Lyra!” Pan called to her from where he was perched on top of one with paws tucked close to his chest and bushy tail twitching over bows and ribbons.

“Yes, and we’ll open them _after_ breakfast. Your father is waiting for us,” Marisa said, putting her hands on Lyra’s shoulders and steering her away. Pan loped after and then past them.

Lyra’s heart beat in her throat with a strange sort of apprehension. She couldn’t tell if her palms were sweaty or if she was flashing hot or cold, but the idea of her father— her _father_ — waiting for her filled her a dread-like excitement she couldn’t explain. When she entered the kitchen nook, Pan was already under the table, flicking his tail at Stelmaria who was steadfastly ignoring him; only her ears flickering gave any indication she noticed him at all. Lyra whispered his name and he came bounding back to her and continued up her leg, claws catching in her pants and thick terry-robe before twining around her throat. He was too heavy now, compared to his old favorite ermine form, but it was convenient and… soothing in familiarity. Something she needed as Asriel lowered a sheaf of papers and an eyebrow rose.

“The adults awake and ready for Christmas before the child? We’ve done a bad job of it, Marisa,” Asriel said coolly. The facade broke and an almost smile curved up one side of his mouth. “Well, aren’t you starving for sausage and beans? Or is it French toast today?”

“It’s Christmas, we’ll have a bit of everything,” Marisa said before Lyra could answer. She stroked her hand over Lyra’s hair and slid gracefully into a chair as the kimono she wore billowed softly. “First, we must all have a cup of chocolate.”

“I’ll stick to my coffee. I’m sure Lyra would like one, too, wouldn’t she?” Asriel suggested with a smirk Lyra’s way.

“Only if it’s got milk and sugar and chocolate in it,” Lyra replied.

She could feel herself smiling, could hear Marisa and Asriel laughing, but it all felt… out of step. Like watching a painting come to life. She tried to walk to the table, stomach rumbling for the breakfast she could see the kitchen staff setting at each place, but her legs weren’t moving. Marisa and Asriel were talking about something, the monkey sitting on the back of Marisa’s chair with his tail swinging lazily, and Stelmaria still curled on the floor at Asriel’s feet with her chin resting on her paws.

“Lyra, come sit. Don’t stand there and let the food get cold,” Marisa’s sharp voice cut through the air.

“What does it matter if she eats or not. You can’t expect to tame an animal,” Asriel said.

Marisa’s eyes and mouth were still soft with kind smiles, but the voice that came out from between her lips was barbed. Just like Marisa, Asriel’s expression was loving, but his words were cold and unfeeling. Their faces, their smiles, the weight of their gazes, all of it felt wrong. Only their words felt… right. Felt…

Familiar.

* * *

Lyra woke panting and sweating. Her sheets were tangled around her legs… or maybe her too large sleep pants were doing most the tangling. She yanked at the neck of the worn out t-shirt, feeling choked and breathless. Pan stirred awake and scooted out from under the quilt to press his cold nose against her wrist.

“Lyra? What is it?” he asked, both sleepy and concerned.

“A… a bad dream,” Lyra admitted after a moment. There was a soft chirruping sound from Pan’s throat, and then he was climbing into her lap and just as easily into her arms. She cuddled him close, breathing in the smell of her bedsheet’s ‘ _Spring Fresh_ ’ laundry soap and her own cheap wild-berry shampoo that was bought in bulk every month.

“I dream about them, too, you know. Especially that… that monkey,” Pan told her quietly while his whiskers tickled her neck.

“It wasn’t just them. It was… it was Asriel, too,” Lyra whispered, feeling queasy and childish and _stupid_.

“We haven’t heard from him in years,” Pan said in confusion. He wriggled in her arms until he could perch on her bicep and thrust his face against hers. “You haven’t heard from him in years, have you?”

Lyra paused, then shook her head. “Not really? But Hannah was worried about my school tuition, remember? And then suddenly, she wasn’t.”

“So… he paid for it. That’s a good thing!” Pan said as his sharp claws kneaded her shoulder and collarbone. “Right?”

Lyra just shrugged and looked towards her alarm clock. Bright green numbers read 4:02, but she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping again any time soon. Not with the memory of a fake Christmas too shiny and painful in her mind.

“C’mon, Pan,” she said, suddenly decisive. She threw the covers off and went for her nearest sweater and and winter hat. Not that she had many of either.

“This isn’t a good idea, Lyra! It’s Christmas morning!”

“I know what day it is, but I’m going with or without you.”

“You _can’t_ go without me!”

“Yeah, but I _can_ shove you in a backpack and force you to come,” Lyra threatened.

“You would not,” Pan said on a horrified gasp. If there’s one thing Pan hated, it was a loss of dignity. It was pretty easy to push that button, too. She grinned as the pitter-patter of his paws followed her into the hallway.

The carpet _sshh-sshh’d_ under her feet, and her shadow stretched over the wall until she closed her bedroom door and the entire hall was swallowed in darkness. She couldn’t actually see them in the dark, but she knew where the few framed pictures on the wall were hanging and how to avoid them— the first a recent class photo, another of just her and Roger, and then another like that but more candid. The rest were much older and starring people Lyra didn’t actually know, though she recognized a few faces. The colors were faded by time, but they showed amazing places around the world— London, Vienna, Beijing, Hong Kong, Maghreb, Reykjavik, so many places she hungered to go see. All the pictures showed the same group of people, some weren’t in _every_ picture, but they were the same faces again and again.

She reached the last step, froze, and carefully jumped to the bottom floor to avoid the hideous creak. She landed cat-like and legs splayed wide to keep balanced and quiet. The fairy lights in the den glittered dimly, pops of white on the dark walls and carpet. On a whim, she peeked into the room and saw the tree shimmering in its corner. It was so different from the one in her dream, with its skirt of fake snow around the pot and the much smaller pile of presents in various colors and patterns. More than a dozen of the fairy lights didn’t work— every year for the past three years Hannah swore she’d buy new ones, and then forgot by Valentine’s Day— and the ornaments on the tree were almost all handmade. Construction paper, half-finished popcorn-and-cranberry strings, wooden sticks covered in glitter, and small clay pendants painted by messy children’s hands, Poundland-bought plastic ornaments faded and paint rubbed off by too many hands. So many different children had come and gone in this house, and, for now, there were just two.

The blanket trailing over the arm of the sofa had Lyra smiling, and she crept silently into the room, Pan running ahead of her. Curled in a small ball on the cushions, Roger lay asleep with Salcilia twisted into an even smaller ball against her human’s stomach. The blankets had mostly fallen off him and he was shivering slightly. With a fond smile, Lyra pulled it back up to his shoulders and tucked him and Silcilia in, leaving a little gap for the daemon to wriggle out of later.

But Roger wasn’t the one she was looking for. She gave his hair was last stroke before pulling quickly away with a shudder.

It had reminded her too much of the dream…

Then, she tiptoed through the foyer to shove her bare feet into Wellies and wrapped herself up in her snow parka. Outside, the air nipped at her nose like something alive and _cheeky_. She couldn’t help the too-toothy grin as she crunched through snow and the night air whipped her hair around her fast-numbing cheeks and mouth. Pan was snug in the hood of the parka, his weight a familiar comfort against her back and his whiskers tickling at her ear when he occasionally snuck out of the warmth to whisper in her ear that they really _should_ get back home.

But he was just as excited to duck through the line of trees and past the wooden-slat that had been forcibly loosened three years ago. The house loomed above her, some reject of a Swedish artist rather than a proper British house in Lyra’s mind. Although, she was _probably_ a bit biased having been raised half in the old College and half in a cottage barely bigger than a flat. The few months in the penthouse were a blip.

She reached into her pocket where her stash of convenient pebbles lay in wait. With precision and years of practice, the first hit the window with a satisfying _crack_. Two more followed in quick succession, the fourth in hand, when the tell-tale sound of a window being pushed upwards stopped her arm.

“ _Lyra_ , it’s four in the morning!” Will’s sleep-rough voice snarled down at her.

But he was quiet, almost too quiet to hear, and Lyra knew she could shrug and slip the rock in her pocket without a qualm. She knew the voice of a truly angry Will Perry. This was an angry, sleepy, but _concerned_ Will. She’d get in his house in a trice.

“Lemme in!”

“No! Go home!”

Lyra grinned wider at him thinking just saying ‘no’ would work. “ _Wiiiill_ , I’m _cold_. Do you want me and Pan to _die_? Didn’t your dad just tell us about that man who lost a foot? I’m not wearing any socks, Will.”

“You should’ve put on socks, then, shouldn’t you have? My mum’ll kill me,” Will hissed back.

“C’mon, she won’t kill you for letting me in for a minute. That’s all I want, a minute,” Lyra lied with a beatific smile he probably couldn’t see. Kirjava could, though, and Lyra could hear the chuckle of the cat-daemon following her words.

“What would Lyra Belacqua be without toes? Might as well let them in, Will.”

There was a loud grumbling sigh and the window slid quietly shut. Lyra hopped her way through the snow towards the front door.

“You think you’ve won, Lyra, but they won’t let you boss them around like you do to Roger and the others,” Pan warned.

“You say that every time, but I always get what I want in the end,” Lyra replied blithely. Since, when it came down to it, she just wanted to be with Will, she really did get what she wanted. Not that she'd admit it to anyone. Not even Pan… not yet.

The door opened and Lyra slithered her way past Will before he could stop her getting into the sitting room. Knowing him, he’d try to put up a fight and keep her in the boot-foyer. Like a _good_ boy. One day she’d train him out of that, though maybe not too much. It was fun watching him struggle with himself over doing what was right and doing what was more interesting, a.k.a Lyra’s newest crazy idea. Case in point, sneaking into his house at 4 a.m. on Christmas morning.

“Lyra, don’t get too comfortable, you can’t stay,” Will said as she kicked off her boots and flopped onto the sofa.

“I don’t think I could sleep anyway. You should make some hot chocolate. That’ll warm us up,” Lyra suggested, shrugging out of her damp parka to snuggle even more into the pillow. Pan and Kir were already curled up together on their own pillow, whispering quietly under Kir’s loud contented purrs.

“I’m not gonna…” Will sighed roughly and dragged a hair through his thick short hair. His heavy brows contracted low over his nose, making him look older and wearier than ever, but when his eyes opened, his initial concern was back. Before he even spoke, she was fidgeted under the weight of that wisdom, scowling and mulish. “Lyra, what’s happened?”

“It was just a stupid dream. I’ll go back home now,” Lyra said as she abruptly got to her feet. “You and Pan were right, it was stupid to come.”

Will grasped her shoulders when she tried to run past him towards the door.

“Don’t be stupider. Look, Pan hasn’t even moved. You know you’re going to stay,” Will said with a jerk of his chin towards the daemons. Sure enough, their eyes glittered in the darkness in their direction, but they hadn’t moved a centimeter.

Lyra scowled harder. “Well, stop being difficult. I just didn’t wanna be _there_ , _alone_ , thinking about…” She stopped and squirmed under Will’s hands. “ _Her._ ”

There was a long beat of silence.

“Your mother?”

“She’s _not_ my _mother_ ,” Lyra hissed like an angry polecat, yanking herself away from Will and wrapping her arms around her torso as tightly as she could. She was trembling all over and it wasn’t because of her bare feet. “She _ain’t_. So why can’t I…” She bit her lip so savagely tears came her eyes and she flinched at the bright sharpness when a sliver of chapped skin peeled away under her teeth.

“Lyra.” Will stopped, then stepped up and wrapped both arms around her shoulders. She fell easily against him, head lying on his shoulder and arms still tight around her own stomach. A sniffle escaped, but only one, and it was muffled by Will’s flannel, so she could convince herself he didn’t hear it. She was better at lying to herself than to Will, anyhow. “It sucked, okay. I know it did. She shouldn’t've shown up like that and made all those promises and then just…” He broke off with and angry noise, arms tightening.

“Well, she did. She’s a liar, a better one’n I ever been,” Lyra said sulkily. “And I fell for it hook, line, ‘n sinker. Shoulda known it’d be too good to be true. Asriel didn’t even want me, and he’s not posh like _her_. I’m just some foster brat, doncha know.”

“Hey. You’re _our_ brat, Hannah and my mom and dad’s, and Roger, too.”

Lyra nodded slowly. “Not fighting the brat bit at all, ain’t you?”

“ _I_ don’t tell the stories. We’ve got you for that.”

Lyra giggled thickly, damned if she’d sniffle again where he could hear her. “Can I get my cocoa then?”

“Such a brat,” Will groaned. He let her go slowly and she forced herself to stand up straight, not latch on and refuse to stop hugging him back. It was so unfair that Pan could get away with turning into a fur rug with Kir, but she felt too raw to ever reach out for Will that way. He recaptured her attention by mussing up her already messy hair. “It won’t be great or anything. So don’t complain and _stay here_.”

Will leveled her with a serious look, which she returned with an innocent, contrite expression of her own. He frowned a little harder, and then headed for the kitchen. The moment he was out of sight, Kirjava was leading the way towards his bedroom, Pan click-clacking next to her and Lyra following so close she almost stepped on Pan’s tail.

Knowing Will had to feel Kir pulling further away didn’t stop Lyra was sneaking into his room like a spy, trying not to giggle _or_ make the floorboards squeak. She never would’ve gotten away with this if Mr. Parry were home, but he was on another mission— in Siberia, this time— so he wouldn’t be waking up and neither would Mrs. Parry. Will’s room was its usual tidy. Books sitting neatly on the desk, papers weighed down by an _actual_ amber paperweight his father gave him, pencils almost compulsively lined by order of sharpness and length next to them. There were no clothes strewn on the ground or sticking out of drawers because they’d been shoved hurriedly inside. No trainers or boots kicked under the bed or desk because he’d forgotten to take them off at the door. The only untidy thing was the bed he had rushed out of and the pile of pebbles sitting atop his bookshelf. She stole a few to replace her pocket-supply. Tomorrow, he’d go down to his mother’s flowerbeds and pick up the other rocks among the snow. His mum was particular about the appearance of the flowerbeds, especially in the winter— especially when his dad wasn’t home.

Deciding the only fit place for her would be the place she couldn’t mess up, she sunk on Will’s bed with a satisfied sigh and tucked her cold toes under his duvet. Kir was already curled on her side of the bed, tail tucked neatly under her body and waiting imperiously for Pan to join her.

“I told you they’d let us in,” Lyra whispered to Pan smugly as he crawled onto the mattress.

“One day, he really will tell you no,” Pan said, standing on his back paws to wriggle his nose and whiskers against her cheek.

“Hm, will he?” Kirjava said in that soft, silky voice of hers. It always sent such a delicious shiver down Lyra's spine for Kirjava to address her directly.

A moment later, the daemons were whispering their secrets again and Lyra cast a bored look around. Under his pillow, and with the streetlamp outside to help her, Lyra caught sight of a book. She pulled it to herself and hummed noncommittally at it. Some book about unsolved mysteries. There were little tabs on the pages and she squinted at his neat and precise handwriting through the gloom. _The brother had motive and opportunity,_ she read on page 133.

The light blinked on just as the door closed and she looked up. Will scowled thunderously at her. The effect was ruined by the two mugs of cocoa steaming in his hands and piled high with the giant marshmallows Lyra liked best.

“This does _not_ look like my sofa,” he said quietly.

“Are you sure? Seems just as comfy,” Lyra replied while reaching out with both hands in a ‘gimme’ gesture.

He handed over her cup before sitting next to her. They sipped in silence, which Will liked best. Lyra let him have his silence for now. Soon enough, the whole stupid dream would be slipping out of her. About halfway through her mug, she listed to the side and propped her head on the very edge of his shoulder. And broke the silence.

“Why can’t I have it, Will? Why can’t I have two parents that love each other and love me, too?” Lyra whispered hoarsely. “Why does having a dream ‘bout them smiling at me, and being happy I’m there… why does it got to be just a dream?”

“Because you’re a kid. You’re supposed to want that, you’re supposed to get it, too,” Will said quietly. “But it doesn’t always work out that way and it sucks.”

“I ain’t even knew I _had_ a mum, Will, and I wanted to love her so bad. Asriel… he didn’t tell me he were my dad. I found out listenin’ to that old Dean talk about it. Asriel got so mad, he took me away from there and dropped me in a foster home. So then she came and told me we'd be a family… told me she wanted me.” Lyra scowled at her cocoa and sipped at it to keep her mouth from trembling.

“… Hannah, and me, and Roger… it hasn’t been so bad, has it? If she’d just never come at all and left you alone, you wouldn’t be so sad now,” Will said so fiercely it sent shivers down Lyra’s spine. This was the kind of Will that punched that school meathead so hard he’d lost a tooth and cracked another, and Will had had a fractured knuckle. It was the part Lyra liked and feared the most.

“You’re just mad ‘cuz she tricked you, too,” Lyra said. She turned the mug in her hands. “She was pretty and a real lady, with pretty clothes and hair and voice. You wanted her to stick around just as much as I did.”

“Yeah, well, she looks like you, doesn’t she. Of course she’s pretty,” Will retorted hotly.

Lyra glanced up in surprise, but Will was looking away. He obviously hadn’t meant to say that. Feeling soppy and soft, Lyra smiled and lay her head back down and tried not to blush like a girl. _Why not? I_ am _a girl!_

After a long moment, Will cleared his throat. “You got family, Lyra. Who cares if they’ve got your blood or your name. They love you and want you with them. Ms. Hannah never had a foster kid all alone ever since I’ve known her. She… loves you and want you to be happy. And Roger would die for you in a heartbeat.”

“I’d kill for them first,” Lyra hissed at the very idea. She settled when Will’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “You forgot some people.”

“Yeah?”

Lyra bumped into him and he chuckled. “ _We’re_ family. Your mum and dad, too. I know they love me better’n you. I’m _interesting_.”

“You’re a liar through and through. Dad probably does love you best.”

Lyra laughed from deep in her belly, hurriedly pressing her face to Will’s chest to muffle the sounds. As her laughter ebbed into chuckles and chortles, a tentative and unsure hand stroked over her hair. This time, it was like he was wiping away the dream’s memory. It was just _his_ hand on her hair, and the smell of the same flowery detergent his mum always used and hot cocoa and cinnamon and marshmallows.

“You should get home. You don’t wanna miss Roger’s first Christmas with you,” Will whispered, though his arm around her shoulder tightened.

Lyra nodded, but cuddled closer. Kir was purring nearby and Pan was dozy and _content_ in her mind. The idea of breaking out of this bubble, returning to the snow and her empty bed where she might be haunted by what might’ve been all over again… Why did Mrs. Coulter had to have shown up just weeks before Christmas? Spent all autumn dazzling her with a wonderful life she’d never intended to keep Lyra in? Just as a way to hunt Asriel down and get a pound of flesh she felt she’d been owed, a bounty hunter using bait that had gone un-bitten, because Asriel had never cared enough about Lyra to fall for Mrs. Coulter’s trick.

“Let’s just wait… till I finish my cocoa.”

“It’s already cold.”

“It’s all right.”

"Hey, Ly?" She made a soft sound to show she was listening even though her eyes were closed. "You aren't just some liar, you know? You never lie about _what_ you are. You fierce and angry and you'd fight like a bear for people you care about. That's why my dad likes you so much. You're like him."

"Whaddabout you? Doncha like me, too, Will?"

"Shuddup."

She giggled softly.

* * *

She didn’t remember falling asleep. Nor did she remember Will setting their mugs on the floor and tucking her under his duvet while wrapping himself in his robe and an extra quilt kept in his closet. She didn’t remember him gently brushing the hair out of her eyes or giving Pan a soft ‘ _sh_ ’ when he’d made a sleepy questioning noise.

But if she had, she would’ve just grinned and shrugged. It was exactly what she would’ve expected. Maybe she didn’t have a mother as sweet as Mrs. Coulter pretended to be, but she had fallen asleep with the taste of cocoa in her mouth feeling _safe_ and _happy_. And when she woke up, Mrs. Parry and her grey-feathered parrot would fuss over her and bundle her up in spare scarves, and the three of them would tromp through the snow together to celebrate Christmas as a family. They had chosen to hold on tight and love as hard as possible, even when things were bitter. That was so much better.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope @moustache-bonnet likes this!! it's their gift for the HDM holiday exchange on tumblr. It's SOOO last minute, but I got it done TECHNICALLY on time?? It's a little anti-Marisa/Asriel, but let's be real. Neither of them were great parents. I'd love to write a fic where they get a better chance at it, but... not this time. 
> 
> Mrs. Parry's daemon is an African grey parrot daemon. I looked up "birds that are easily compulsive" and saw that. They have a lot of nervous tics including feather-pulling and bobbing up and down on one foot and stuff like that and it reminded me of Will's mom. PLUS, it's a bird like John Parry's, so I went with it! I'm super American, so any Britishisms are things I remember from the books, or my British and Welsh coworkers helped me out with (like Poundland LOL, it's basically a dollar store). 
> 
> Also, I did look up the monkey's name. Then, decided eh. Who needs to use it. He's just "the golden monkey".


End file.
